KO Pains
by Croup
Summary: A new rule changes the way the whole tournament is fought. Will the fighters be able to cope, or will they end up crying over their opponent's knee . . . ? Spanking!
1. Intro

"What do you mean, there's a new stipulation for K. an opponent?" Ryu asked.

"Read it yourself, man," Ken said. He handed Ryu the promotional packet given to all fighters entering the World Tournament. The two friends were right outside the offices for sign-up. They'd been in every entry of the tournament since it's inception, and so neither had been expecting a radical shift in the rules. Ken, however, had a huge grin on his face as he watched Ryu read.

" . . . this is . . . ludicrous!" Ryu read it over again in case he'd misunderstood something. He hadn't. "You mean, the only way to legally defeat an opponent now is to . . . "

"Is to beat their ass," Ken finished for him. "Give 'em a good ol' fashioned spanking until they submit. Heh, of course the way you force them to take it is left up to you, so I'm sure there'll still be plenty of martial arts here. There'll just be a bonus for winning now, and an extra taste of humiliation for the losers."

Ryu was still reading the paper and frowning. "I don't know . . . This seems so . . . "

With a laugh, the blond American slung an arm around his Japanese rival. "What's the matter, Ryu, getting cold feet? Afraid I'll whup your bare butt like I used to back when we trained together?"

"As I remember it was usually YOU getting punished, and over our master's knee," Ryu replied stiffly. He considered Ken's smirk. " . . . On second thought, maybe this isn't such a bad rule after all. Even at your age, _you_ could certainly still use some discipline . . . "

Ken laughed again and gave Ryu's shoulder a squeeze. "That's the spirit, buddy."


	2. E Honda VS El Fuerte

E. Honda walked into the bathhouse wearing his usual clothing: red underwear that was covered only by a mawashi around his waist. He had his hair pulled back into a knot as usual, and his muscles showed to everyone in the bathhouse that he was prepared for any sort of fight. After being made aware of the new rule, he'd decided to make sure he was ready for anything. Not that he was worried-only a handful of people in the tournament were capable of touching his ass, let alone beating it. But it still never hurt to be prepared. He looked around the bathhouse, picking out any man who might be his opponent.

It wasn't long before E. Honda found what he was looking for. A masked wrestler stepped out of the crowd, hopping around and grinning manically-El Fuerte. He was shirtless and wore colorful spandex pants. An odd outfit for a bath house, but he would never go anywhere without his Lucha Libre outfit.

"So you're my opponent, huh?" he said. He peered at the big guy, taking in his massive body. "Got a big set of cakes on you I see. But not to worry! As a master chef, I'll cook those buns just like I would any other!" He flipped around and got into an energetic fighting stance. "It's DYNAMIC COOKING TIME!"

When El Fuerte had first read the new rule, he'd thought nothing of it. As a pro-wrestler he was used to displays of public dominance over an opponent in the ring, and it wasn't as if he'd never paddled a guy over the ropes with his frying pan before. With his quick free-moving style, it was difficult to pin El Fuerte down, so he felt confident no one would be able to get at his behind. Against an opponent with a bulk like E. Honda's though, he'd be unable to use many of his wrestling moves . . .

E. Honda's eye's twitched in annoyance at the other's words, but it didn't matter. He compared his massive size to El Fuerte's, thinking in his mind that his size was a great advantage over the masked wrestler's. The only problem with him was the fact that he was quick, but E. Honda has taken care of fast people before.

He grabbed some water and tossed it into the air, before getting into his fighting stance with a stomp that shook the ground slightly. He glared at the man. "The only one's who's buns are going to be cooked are yours, until they turn a deep red!"

When E. Honda first read the rules, he couldn't help but smile. He knew it was very unlikely for he himself to become a loser, with his massive size and strength, and the thought of turning all these guys' asses red was something he was looking forward to.

The Mexican wasn't intimidated at all by that stomp, but just chuckled at E. Honda's declaration. "Bigger men than you have tried, amigo," he mocked.

Over the bath's speaker system, a countdown was taking place. "3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . FIGHT!"

As soon as the word was given, El Fuerte was moving. With a backwards leap, he planted his feet on the wall behind him and then kicked off. This gave him a boost of both speed and height, and he flew in to get E. Honda's head into a lock.

E. Honda watched, preparing himself for the moment. As the wrestler jumped off the wall, the sumo wrestler launched himself up into the air. This allowed him to avoid the headlock, and he even landed a blow on El Fuerte. E. Honda landed hard on his rear with a grunt, before he quickly got back up.

"Oof . . . Not bad!" El Fuerte said in pleased Spanish. He clutched at his abs where E. Honda had struck him, but quickly recovered. Then he dove at the big man again. This time instead of attacking from above, he attacked from below. E. Honda tried to bend over to catch him, but with a quick roll El Fuerte went under the sumo wrestler's legs to emerge out the other side. But he didn't go through empty-handed.

"Missing something?" he asked with a smirk. In his hand was the large towel that E. Honda wore for all his fights. He could see the big Japanese man blush, but before he could turn around to get him, El Fuerte was spinning the towel into a whip. Since E. Honda only wore a sumo's thong underneath, when El Fuerte snapped the towel against his ass it hit bare cheek. CRACK!

E. Honda let out a yelp at the crack of the towel to his rear, quickly covering the spot before glaring at the man. The Mexican was smiling wide. "Yep, those chubby muffins are going to get WELL roasted today!"

The hefty man went at him quicker than El Fuerte expected. While he was busy boasting, E. Honda quickly grabbed his arm and, with hardly any effort, flipped him over onto the ground and on his back. He didn't let go of the arm though, instead E. Honda lifted the slimmer man up by it and landed a powerful slap of his own to the luchador's rear.

"Yow!" The spank made El Fuerte shoot through the air. He landed with a roll, and then rubbed his ass. Damn, that hit was definitely going to leave a mark. E. Honda could slap harder than he'd thought. He'd have to be careful not to get caught by the big man again.

Well, they said the best defense was a good offense, right? El Fuerte ran right up to E. Honda's face and then jumped over him, dodging whatever attacks the sumo wrestler sent his way. E. Honda had assumed the luchador would be sliding under him again, and so only made it easier to be taken advantage of. Then, landing with both feet, El Fuerte twisted around and-

SMACK!

He made E. Honda's left buttock bounce. Then-

SMACK!

He made E. Honda's right buttock bounce. As a finisher to his combo, he wound up both arms and-

SMACK!

He spanked both hefty globes at the same time. El Fuerte grinned manically under his mask. He'd heard that E. Honda was one of the most dangerous competitors in the tournament, but now the man's ass was covered in his hand-prints.

The sumo wrestler groaned in both annoyance and pain, standing up and covering his cheeks with his hands. He turned to glare at El Fuerte before launching his big body once more into the air. This time he was the one to land behind his opponent. He immediately began an assault on the masked man's ass, using his fast slap attack to give quick and hard spanks.

!

"Ahhh! Ay caramba!" It was El Fuerte's turn to yell, as his own ass came under attack. The spandex pants he wore offered no protection from E. Honda's high-powered slaps, and he was surprised by the incredible strength behind each blow. Just from those few seconds alone, it felt like his taut, well-muscled Mexican backside was burning up.

He was propelled forwards by the spanks, butt-cheeks visibly jiggling. Before he could recover, El Fuerte's knees hit against a porcelain vat and he found himself bent over into a bath, ass raised up. " . . . uh oh!"

raised an eyebrow at the man's position, but smiled. Before the Mexican could even get up, E. Honda had an arm around El Fuerte, holding him in the exact position he wanted. His other hand grabbing the spandex pants and practically ripped them off along with any underwear he was wearing to show El Fuerte's bare rear to every person inside the bathhouse. They cheered, knowing that a spanking was about to come on.

"Like I said, the only one whose buns are going to be cooked are yours." E. Honda said, raising up his hand and began bringing it down. He used the slap attack again, only this time the slaps were a lot harder know that he knew El Fuerte wasn't going anywhere.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Que! Ow ow ow OWWW! Nooooo!" El Fuerte squirmed and wriggled under the sudden, inescapable blows. In his illustrious Lucha Libre career, El Fuerte had never once been unmasked in the ring. This, however, was much worse than that. It wasn't his face which had been bared, but his tan ass-cheeks which now reddened and flexed for the watching crowd!

"Let me up! Ooh! Stoop!" The younger wrestler struggled in the sumo's grip, but it was no good. Once E. Honda got his massive hands on you, there was no escape. His legs kicked out as the burn started to really kick in.

just chuckled at the man's reaction, not letting him go at all as his hand continued to fall, raining punishing blows on the humiliated man's backside, turning the tan cheeks into a red color with each slap.

"I don't think so. Not until your ass is good and red and burning from this spanking. A man like me always keeps his word!" E. Honda had a large hand which nearly covered El Fuerte's entire ass, so he didn't need to move it around much as he punished. Just up and down occasionally to switch from spanking the two bouncing ass-cheeks to the man's squirming upper thighs.

"Ooh! Damn you, you big tub of lard! Go ahead and spank me then-as much as you want! I can take your wussy blows all day!" . . . is what El Fuerte wanted to say. The truth was, however, that E. Honda's high speed slaps had already rendered him almost to tears. It was unbelievable how quickly the big man could lay down the spanks-like El Fuerte was being punished by a high-speed machine rather than a normal man. Those big calloused hands covered every inch of his wriggling rear until it felt like each of El Fuerte's buns had been fried, lambasted, and baked a rich, dark red.

So instead he started begging. "Ooooh! Lo siento-I'm sorry! Pleeeease! I give up!" El Fuerte cried, fighting back a rush of tears. He bowed his head down, his buttocks lying over the tub rim tender and defeated. At least he still had his mask on, so the people couldn't see how red his face had also become from the humiliating results of the fight.

Over the loudspeakers, the same voice as before declared, "E. Honda, WINS!"

E. Honda grinned. "There. Cooked to a nice, deep red, just as promised. Who says a sumo can't cook? Maybe next time I'll go for an even deeper red." The huge man gave one more final SMACK! before he picked El Fuerte up and and dropped him heavily on his rear. Chuckling, he walked across the bathhouse to grab his towel, and threw it over his brawny shoulder. "And by the way," he called back. "If you think that was bad, I was just going easy on you. You haven't felt a REAL spanking from me yet."

"Ooooh . . . " El Fuerte just lay on the wet floor, naked except for his mask and boots, as the big sumo wrestler walked away. Slowly, his hands crept back until he could rub his hot, blistered ass. He gritted his teeth as he tenderly ran his hands up and down the flesh. Looking at E. Honda's retreating backside, El Fuerte could still see the handful of prints he'd left decorating the large buttocks. But that was nothing compared to the inferno his own ass had been left in. His cheeks felt like the inside of his mouth after eating one too many jalapenos.

Silently, the Mexican vowed to train hard for the next tournament, and not to be caught off-guard like that again. He did, however, wonder what E. Honda had meant by a "real" spanking, and felt pity for the next fighter who'd go up against the big sumo with the lightning palms. For now though, he'd better get his pants back on, or at least a towel to cover himself with before somebody-

Behind him, he heard the snap of several cameras going off. El Fuerte cursed in Spanish.


	3. Blanka VS Abel

Deep in the Brazilian Amazon . . .

A blur of green with a red mane darted through the trees and vines of his home. Blanka was on the hunt, sniffing here and there, searching for an intruder to his turf. He'd entered the tournament once again this year, and had been expecting a challenger for some time now. Beneath his feral grunts, Blanka planned to take full advantage of the new rules and blister the ass of whoever dared to mess with him.

A short distance away, Abel walked through some wetlands carefully and slowly, paying attention to anything that might be his next opponent. The man was supposed to fight, much to his misfortune, Blanka. He knew about the creature's electrocution abilities, so he knew that he could be hard to beat. Nonetheless, the French grappler was determined to win this.

He began to walk across a bridge that was over a river of water. Through a break in the trees, the sun showed that Abel had decided to wear his wrestling singlet for this confrontation. The tight suit showed off all the muscle in his stomach and chest, not to mention outlining the shape of his big muscled ass.

Nearby, Blanka's eyes lit up when he finally located his prey's tracks. They belonged to a large male, and on foot. With a grunt and a leap, the green beast swung up into the trees. 

About half an hour later, Blanka surveyed his opponent from the safety of the treetops. A big guy, he was wearing a spandex thing that clung to his skin with sweat. He was well built, with big arms and thighs almost like tree-trunks. But what grabbed Blank's attention most was the man's rear. What a butt! Blanka scratched his coarse red chest-hair as he kept watching from above, and also adjusted himself in the ripped shorts that were his only clothing.

Drooling slightly, the savage creature watched as Abel picked his way down a path, the sunlight exposing the shifting and flexing mounds of his ass. But for all of Blanka's wildness, he also had an idea of honor, and waited until Abel entered a clearing where there would be room to maneuver before attacking.

"Rrrraoo!" he cried, and his spinning green body went at Abel like a razor blade.

Abel turned as the green creature came at him. He didn't bother trying to back up from it-instead he rolled forward, keeping as close to the ground as he could before he stood up again, the green creature now behind him. He got himself into a ready fighting stance. "So you're Blanka?" he asked, now prepared to fight. "If you're my opponent, then I'm not going to hold back on you. Hope you're ready to have your green butt turned red."

Blanka didn't respond to that-if he even could. Instead he snarled ferociously, making it clear that the only red butt around there would belong to Abel. Rolling himself into a ball again, he launched himself forward.

Somewhere far off, a voice bellowed. "3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . FIGHT!"

Abel wasn't prepared for the fast attack this time, and was knocked flat on his back by the spinning body. But he quickly got up, more prepared and expecting Blanka's fighting style to be like that now. It was Abels' turn to attack, and he charged in, jumping a bit and moving his leg to bring it down on the creature's head.

Raising his muscled arms up, Blanka managed to block Abel's kick-though he was knocked back several feet. This didn't deter the monster though, and he was immediately on the attack again. His beastly side was in high evidence as he raised his clawed hands and swiped at Abel's chest, ripping the blue singlet in several places.

Abel immediately backed up, but not before his costume was torn, showing his bare chest. The man frowned at the rips, though caring more about the slightly stinging pain coming from where the claws had swiped his skin. He hadn't thought the creature's nails were that sharp.

He wanted to end this as soon as possible, especially if his singlet was going to end up being completely shredded. He rolled over to Blanka, grabbed him and spun him around in the air a few times before smashing him down to the ground. Then he got down on one knee and planting the stunned creature over the other. He wasted no time in raising his hand and began to smack it heavily down.

"Rreeough!" Blank reacted with surprise to the turnaround, his green abs grinding over the wrestler's knee as he was pinned. It seemed almost like he didn't know what to do in that position. But when the swats started to land against the seat of his shorts, Blanka's eyes opened wide and he let out a guttural cry. He started struggling wildly, fighting tooth and nail to rise up even as more smacks crashed against his backside.

Abel just smiled as he pummeled his opponent's rear end, thinking he already had this match won. "Sorry, but it looks like you're out of luck for this round. I'm not going to let go anytime soon." Loud SMACK SMACK SMACKs fell down hard, their sound echoing off the trees. The monster thrashed around and hissed while Abel gave his ass a good pounding. His nails clutched the man's leg hard as smack after smack fell down onto his rear. Abel could spank as solidly as he looked, and Blanka's back arched as his buns stung. Once Blanka's rear had been warmed up a bit, Abel put his fingers under the green creature's shorts. "Now it's time to feel it on the bare!" he said, as he pulled them down and completely off.

The pain from before was nothing compared to the humiliation Blanka felt as his shorts came down. Blanka may have been an uncivilized brute but he still had his dignity, and those shorts had represented the last shred of it. But he could only snarl as he was stripped totally, and his muscular emerald rump was exposed to his opponent's solid palms. It turned out that Abel had surmised correctly when he'd talked about turning Blanka's butt red. Already there was a faint pinkish hue on the otherwise green buttocks.

Abel smiled at the color of the muscled green ass cheeks. He actually liked the new rule. It was fun turning people's asses red. And if this was how all his battles ended, he was definitely going to win this tournament.

However, little did Abel know but now that Blanka was bare-assed, the beast also had a new opportunity. With the shorts out of the way, there was nothing non-conductive between his body and Abel's spanking palm. In other words, he'd be vulnerable to Blanka's electrical attack the next time he smacked his hand down. Focusing all the charge in his body to his ass-cheeks, Blanka prepared to unleash it with perfect timing.

The strong French mixed martial-artist raised his hand up, concentrating a lot of strength as he brought it down and hit as hard as he could on Blanka's emerald butt . . .

BZZZZT!

There was a spark and a sharp crack of lightning as Abel was suddenly electrocuted by Blanka's attack. The discharge momentarily knocked him senseless. Blanka took that opportunity to get up, and he hooted with pleasure over his sprawled foe. Then he went about and gathered everything he'd need to deal with his foolish opponent . . .

* * * * *

When Abel's eyes fluttered open, he found himself in an odd position. His face was lying on a dirty rotting log, and there were two bumps pressing into his stomach. On further examination he found those two bumps were Blanka's knees, and that he was draped over the monster's lap. Blanka was still naked, but now he was running his hand up and down Abel's bubble-butt. Abel gulped, realizing what must've happened. He knew he should've taken more caution. He'd even known about the creatures electrocution attacks. But he'd been careless, sure of his last thing Abel noticed before that green hand lifted up-only to slam painfully back down-was that his arms and wrists were tied tight with thick green vines, along with his legs and thighs.

As soon as the first spank struck the man was squirming, twisting from side to side to avoid the green hand that would soon turn his thick, firm buttocks a nice rich red.

"Ow, nooo! This isn't how it's supposed to be! You should be over MY knee, not the other way around!"

The beast only laughed as he started to smack a painful beat onto Abel's perfectly rounded glutes. Tied up as he was, the wrestler was completely at his mercy, and Blanka was able to keep him in position easily with his free arm. And, unluckily for Abel, he possessed one of the most spankable asses in the whole tournament. Taking turns between the cheeks, Blanka's feral grin only widened as he watched how the buttocks squirmed and writhed, and how Abel's spandex singlet tightened over his backside, giving him a slight wedgie in the process.

Abel groaned in pain as the smacks landed over his rear over and over again, the two buns bouncing under the slaps. He blushed darkly and twistied over the creatures lap as his rump began to sting and heat up. This was humiliating! "Ooh! S-Stop this! Ouch! Ow! Ow! OW!" he said, protesting against the painful smacks. Abel knew he was likely done for, but he refused to give up despite his position. He clenched his teeth tightly, though with how fast his butt was starting to burn he wasn't sure how long he could resist.

Helplessly, he groaned and twisted under the spanks, blushing furiously at the humiliation he felt. Here he was, a grown, muscular man having his ass slapped over and over and he couldn't do anything about it. And what's worse was that it really stung! But he still refused to give up easily.

Blanka snorted as he just kept on spanking mercilessly. Did Abel stop when Blanka had been jerking around and whimpering? No, and so Blanka had no intention of stopping either until Abel's entire ass was roasted a deep, dark red and the man had completely surrendered.

But, just to give the oversized wrestler an inkling of fairplay, Blanka decided to do to Abel just what had been done to him-and that meant baring that big, juicy ass of his. Reaching up to dig his claws into the fabric starting at Abel's back, Blanka tore right down the curve of the man's spine and in between those bulging butt-mounds. At first, Abel hadn't understood what Blanka was doing. But as soon as he felt his suit tearing he gasped. "No no no no no!" he shouted, desperately squirming even more. Then, taking each side of the costume in hand, Blanka ripped it off completely. Abel had no way to resist as his bubble-butt was exposed completely to the beast's wild eyes. He was left wearing only a jockstrap, which would offer zero protection from further spanking.

Blanka grinned wide as he started in again, large teeth glinting, spanking those deliciously beefy ass-cheeks with all his formidable power. The round, muscular globes were already pretty red in places from the previous spanks, but the next set of whacks made Abel clench his hands tightly into fists and cry out loud. The firm mounds quickly colored even further under Blanka's green palm. But the redder they got, the harder the beast spanked. There was something incredibly satisfying about defeating an opponent this way, driving his victory home right through the flesh of their backside. It appealed to the wild animal side of Blanka.

Abel twisted and squirmed as much as he could, but no matter how much he wished to escape, he knew he couldn't and he had to take the ass beating like a man. But as Blanka's slaps grew harder and harder, Abel found it increasingly hard to resist giving up as the sting and fire in his ass grew more and more. He could even feel a tear or two forming behind his eyes from the ass-beating he was getting. He clenched his eyes and teeth tightly out of stubborness.

Even though he wanted to go on all day, Blanka soon knew that he was at the edge of victory. One or two more solid smacks, and Abel would have no choice but to capitulate. Blanka decided to make the final blow one to remember. Grasping a big round bun in each hand and squeezing, making Abel wince, the creature grinned. Then, Blanka turned his electricity on, giving each cheek a painful shock. It wasn't enough to seriously injure Abel, but it would leave his ass literally smoking.

"No no no-OwwwwwWWWW!" Abel cried out, feeling a tear slide down his cheek as he twisted and bucked wildly over Blanka's lap. "I-I give! I give-Owwww!" he yelled out, hoping it would make the green creature stop.

The monster smirked at Abels's surrender, and held on for only a few seconds more until they both heard the words ring out through the rain forest. "BLANKA WINS." Not many fighters could withstand getting their bare ass electrocuted.

He rolled the big sobbing man off his lap to land with a small splash on the muddy ground. Abel was still tied up, so it would take him a little while to free himself. Then it would take even longer for him to reach civilization, dressed in just a jockstrap and with a throbbing red ass with two vivid electrically charged hand-prints on it. Blanka smirked at that sizzled rump, before grabbing his own shorts and throwing them over his shoulder. Walking away, he looked forward to the next challenger who dared show his face-and his ass-in his rain forest again.


	4. Ken VS Zangief

He'd only stepped off the plane a few hours ago, but Ken Masters was eager to start his matches and had immediately sought out the next fighting arena. Walking through a Russian factory in his traditional red gi, he found himself in a fenced-in area where there was some sort of street fight taking place. Burly factory workers were exchanging bets and cheering on the combatants.

Peeking through the fence, Ken was greeted with the sight of his next opponent. It was that hairy mountain of a man, Zangief, dressed only in red boots and speedo. To his disbelief, Ken saw that Zangief's opponent was literally a bear. Before his very eyes, Zangief grabbed the huge animal and performed a suplex on it, driving it's head into the concrete. He stood up to his spectators going wild and performed a victory pose, smirking as he flexed his huge muscles that were the envy of every man in Russia.

Then he turned, and his eyes met Ken's.

Somewhere, a deep voice bellowed, "GET READY, AND . . . FIGHT!"

The bearded man's eyes narrowed, and a smile formed over his face. He was already pumped up from his match with the bear and, as adrenaline ran through him, decided not to give Ken the chance to make the first move. The giant man ran at Ken, letting out a roar to show all the energy he was feeling. All the spectators were cheering and betting just like they had in the last match-a lot of them were especially looking forward to seeing the loser get his ass pummeled.

Zangief grabbed Ken, forcing him to bend forward a bit before he launched himself into the air. Ken panicked as he was lifted. Even though the Russian wrestler was slow, Ken hadn't expected him to immediately go on the offensive and thus had been caught off-guard. He cursed at his rookie mistake as they both fell downward. He struggled uselessly against the man's big hairy muscles, but there wasn't much he could do. His head was now level with Zangief's feet. And then they crashed down, Zangief landing on his rear and Ken landing on his back. The hairy man kept his arms wrapped around Ken's waist as the shockwave ran through him.

They landed with a bone-jarring crash to enormous cheers from the men gathered around. Ken's legs were at first stiff from the impact, but a moment later they sagged down and the martial artist groaned. Ken expected to fall back and right himself, but instead Zangief held on to him. Normally the wrestler would release him after using the move, but this time he was . . . ? Ken started to sweat. Held upside down, back against the concrete, and red pants-clad rear sticking up . . . No way this could be good.

The Red Cyclone grinned as his opponent began to figure out why he hadn't been let go. Zangief did release one arm then-but only to grab Ken's pants and rip them completely off. "Ah! Nooo!" Ken yelled as his lower body was stripped, leaving only a few tatters around his ankles. His underwear went with them, and that meant that his ass was completely bare for whatever punishments the big Russian decided to inflict on it. Zangief smirked, as he was now sure the match was won. The Russian men cheered loudly as the blond's ass flexed helplessly. And then Zangief raised his hand, kept it in the air for a moment to build up the suspense, and then sent it crashing down HARD! His palm covered most, if not all, of Ken's bottom.

"Yaaow!" the World Warrior yelped as the first heavy swat smashed down. His body jerked, and he struggled hard in the big hairy man's grip. He could hear the men laughing at the red mark on his tightly muscled ass, and his face flushed red with humiliation. He bit his lip as he was held tightly, cock flopping upside down. "Let me go, you dumb bear!"

Zangief just chuckled and began bringing his hand down again and again on the cocky American's ass, quickly turning the round cheeks a bright red color. The Russian men were all hooting and laughing at the sight. "I don't think so!" he said, laughing harder as his meaty paw continued to smack the caught backside. Pausing for a moment to form a green flame in his hand, the large bearded man grinned. "Heheh! Your ass is as good as done for!" he yelled, and brought the next spank down as hard as he could.

Ken's eyes opened wide as that energy burned down into him, and he shrieked loudly. His cheeks already felt like they were sizzling under the man's powerful blows. Is this how men stayed warm up here during the Russian winters? Very soon his ass-cheeks had reached the same color as the pants which once covered them, and Ken found himself unable to keep from crying a little.

_Dammit . . . I can't lose here . . . I've gotta keep going so I can fight Ryu! _he thought desperately. It was only at remembering his old rival that a determined grimace took over Ken's expression, and he knew how to win.

His concentration lapsed off the burning at his rear, and his inner calm took over. Ken was drawing energy to use for his famous fiery Dragon Punch. No pin could possibly contain it's power. "SHORYUKEN!" He burst out of Zangief's sleeper hold, knocking the hairy-chested Russian back.

Zangief picked himself up and glared at Ken. "Your ass is going to be tender meat by the time I'm done with it, little fella. Whether you give up or not!" he roared.

But Ken stood his ground. Sure, he was naked below the waist and with a cherry-red backside mooning the crowd. but he was also ready to fight for the first time. Before Zangief could react, Ken came at him with a flurry of blows. At the sudden combo Zangief backed up, getting hit and instinctively trying to block the blows, but most got through. He quickly turned and formed another green flame in his hand and tried to slap Ken with it-mostly aiming for his ass.

The blond grinned as Zangief's attack came at him. Using his tempting backside as bait had paid off. It set Zangief up perfectly for the whirlwind-kick he was about to unleash. Flying across the stage, the side of his foot smashed against Zangief six times before he set down. Zangief groaned with each kick, unable to block any of them at all. At the end of the whirlwind kick, he was stumbling a bit, trying to regain his senses until he felt Ken grab him. "The bigger they come . . . " Ken said, getting a firm grip on his opponent. He threw . . . ! "The harder they fall!" Zangief smashed into a set of barrels set up against the side of the room.

"Unnngh . . . " Zangief groaned as he lay among the splintered barrels, wood shavings covering his enormous body. "Damn, that hurt," he said as he got up and brushed himself off. Then he turned back to Ken and narrowed his eyes.

"Heh, what's the matter big guy? You're not looking so hot." Ken smirked and turned around to show off his own spanked butt, giving it another smack himself for emphasis. "Did you want to finish the job you started on this thing or not?" The sight of that red ass had Zangief seeing red too. With a snarl, he charged straight at the man, now planning on slapping that ass until long after Ken was begging for mercy.

However, the throw at the barrels had done some damage on him, as Zangief was obviously slower. When he came at him again, Ken easily ducked underneath and did a leg sweep. The already-unbalanced wrestler was easily sent off his feet and he hit the ground with a groan. Grabbing some nearby hanging chains, Ken quickly looped them around the Russian's wrists and pulled him up by them. "Gotcha!"

"Unghh, you little . . . " Zangief immediately moved to push himself up, but found his wrists tied with chains. He twisted in his bondage. "What the-?"

Smirking, Ken had already moved behind him. Before the giant bearded wrestler knew what was happening, Ken was pulling his trunks down to his knees, both to bare his ass and to hinder movement in his legs. Zangief blushed furiously,feeling a sudden draft at his rump. "Damn it! No no no!" He yelled, knowing exactly what kind of position he was in. To his consternation, the Russian men around them had no difficulty now cheering and chuckling at the sight of _Zangief's_ bare ass.

"Damn Zangief, I guess you don't believe in shaving, huh?" Ken chuckled, patting the hairy mounds of Zangief's big butt. Each cheek was packed with muscle. Ken knew it would take a lot to make this man cry, but now he had all the time in the world. "Heh, were you the Bear Wrestler or the Bare Naked Wrestler. I dunno, the second's got a nice ring to it. You might want to change your name, Zangief!" Ken laughed, and started smacking his palm across those big flexing buns.

Zangief groaned and grunted under the smacks to his ass, but didn't feel like giving up anytime soon. He tried his best to break the chains looped around his hands. "When I get-ooh!-out of these, your ass is-Ow!-going to be burnt when I'm done! Ouch!" he yelled out, glaring at the man who was slapping his hairy ass. All the factory worker men were all cheering for Ken though, making the Russian feel humiliated. More than once they'd all gotten their asses beat by Zangief, and they were enjoying the sight of him getting a taste of his own medicine.

"Yeah right, like I'd let you catch me again," Ken said back. His hand kept swinging down, and the cheers of the men buoyed his efforts, making him hit harder and faster. Zangief's hirsute muscle-buns could take a lot of punishment though, and Ken's palm started to hurt soon from spanking the hard spheres. Not only that, but his hand was starting to get rug burn from rubbing against the many rough hairs. That's when Ken got his idea. A way to solve the hair problem, humiliate Zangief even further, and cause him some patented ass-pain while he was at it.

"But speaking of burnt asses . . . get ready for it to be your own!" Ken said. He stepped forward, threw his arms and opened his palms right in front of Zangief's rump. "Hadoken!" The fireball impacted on Zangief's rump squarely, singeing away the hairs and heating up the flesh even further.

"What the-YEOOOW!" he yelled out, feeling the fireball smash into him and actually yelling out in pain from the heat on his ass. He squirmed more and more, knowing that if the punishment kept up at this level, he'd have to quit the match fast. He struggled as much as he could to free himself, although it was no use. The big Russian bear was tied up good until someone let him free. "I swear I'll get my revenge on you! You just wait, I'll beat your ass one day!" he hollered in a panic.

"Yeah yeah yeah, heard it all before," Ken said with a dismissive snort. Then he started to unleash hadokens one after the other. They weren't quite as strong as Ryu's were, but they were more than capable of burning up one big Russian ass. Between fireballs, Ken would smack down across both heated cheeks to make them sting even more. Zangief howled as he felt the fireballs blister his cheeks, one after another. His broad buttocks were quickly burning up and and the smacks between them made it even worse. It was humiliating that he was losing so easily, and his ass was exposed to every man that was watching the fight. But even worse, he was almost at the edge. He was about to give up any second now if the other continued to hadoken his ass.

"Once I win the match, I think I'll let these guys have fun with you, too." Ken grinned and pointed a thumb at the large crowd behind them. At that, all the men cheered. Each one had privately longed to get payback on Zangief for the many times he'd beaten their asses. Zangief had a long night of getting his own ass beat ahead of him.

Zangief tried to resist the growing pain in his rear, but it was no use. He finally opened his mouth and yelled out, "Oooh! Okay! Okay! I-Oww!-give in, dammit! " He was crying from how much his ass burned, and he was hoping that Ken would untie the chains around his wrists and not go through on his promise.

"KEN WINS," the voice rang out, and the blond American stepped back with a smirk on his face to admire his handiwork. The big manly Russian stood humiliated with his raw, smoking rump on full display, trunks gathered around his ankles and tears dripping into his thick chest hair. Ken laughed and gave Zangief one final slap before turning to the assembled men. "Alright fellas, he's all yours!"

The crowd gave a deep cheer and rushed forward as a group. Several of them grabbed stray bits of lumber to paddle the poor wrestler, and others were already pulling their belts off to whip him with. It looked like the fight's loser had a long, painful day ahead of him if he couldn't break free of those thick chains. It wasn't long before Zangief was howling with fresh pain. Everyone knew that he couldn't free himself, so no one held back. Of course, whenever Zangief DID get free, all those workers would probably spend a long time regretting their actions. Bare bottom and bawling over his thick, hairy thighs . . .

"Next is you, Ryu old buddy," Ken said to himself as he walked away. Spanking Zangief had been fun, but the one guy Ken really longed to beat would always be his best friend and sparring partner. Win or lose, Ken would be putting his all into that fight, and that fight alone.


	5. Vega VS Balrog

The next match was set for a parking lot between several casinos in Las Vegas. Cars were parked in a line, with men getting out out of them to watch the fight. The World Tournament had always drawn large crowds to it, but now with the new rule for winning more men than ever before were showing up. And they were all eager to bet on the victor-offering up large sums of money, or sometimes even their own asses, on who would win this time.

Vega was already there, wearing his mask and tight purple pants, tied to his waist with a red sash. He ran a finger along his claws, feeling how smooth and sharp they were. A confident flip signaled to all what he believed the result of this fight would be. No one could match his speed, but more importantly, he could never let his beautiful buttocks be exposed and reddened, and certainly not in front of so many people.

The narcissist however smiled at the idea of reddening an ass which wasn't his. Especially the one he'd be facing today. An old friend and comrade from Shadaloo-Balrog. A cruel smile formed beneath his mask. He would enjoy teaching that rude, unsavory man to finally respect him.

As if summoned by his thoughts, in that moment Balrog stepped out from amidst a sea of supporters. The big black boxer enjoyed much notoriety in this part of the city. Even before the new rules had been enacted, Balrog had been known for occasionally beating the ass of unfortunate rookie boxers who lost to him in the ring, publicly humiliating any man he considered weaker than himself.

He sported a traditional cape only champion boxers wore before a match, and as he approached Vega he threw it off with a flourish. Underneath was the body of a champ in his prime, huge muscles rippling with every step. Heavy boxing gloves hung on his fists, no doubt weighed down with coins from the day's illicit winnings.

"So you're the one I'll be fighting today, huh?" Balrog sneered. "Always figured we'd be on opposite sides someday, ever since we served under Sagat together," he said, remembering the good ol' days. He pumped his arms and banged his fists together, signalling to all that the fight was about to get underway.

From somewhere, a voice said, "READY . . . FIGHT!"

Balrog's fist hurtled straight towards Vega, as fast and powerul as a rocket.

To Vega, it was all too easy. As soon as Balrog charged at him, he flipped backwards until his feet hit a wall. Then he bounced from the vertical surface like a tennis ball, jumping all the way to Balrog's blind side before giving a speedy swipe with his claws. The points left three red scratches down the boxer's side, but more importantly cut through some of his shirt and shorts. Vega raised his claws to glance at the blood on them, and smiled at the damage he'd inflicted on his wardrobe. Just one more good flex on Balrog's part, and . . .

"Oonf! Hey man!" Balrog yelled as he was cut, but didn't realize the more sizeable damage done to his clothes. All he saw was the blood on the vain Spaniard's claws, and the man became enraged. Vega always hopped around like a damn rabbit. It made him hard to hit, and Balrog got frustrated easily.

"You mothafuck-" he shouted, and charged again. But then, as his big legs pumped up, there was a loud tearing noise below. A surprised Balrog looked down to see that his shorts had actually ripped apart and now lay in tatters on the ground. He stopped at that, embarrassed and confused. He was used to flexing his chest and arms after a match until his shirt ripped apart, but this was the first time time his shorts had ripped open instead. Balrog wore only a white jockstrap beneath, and so his muscular brown rump was fully exposed to most of the crowd around him.

"Uhh-shiiiit!" he swore, and tried to cover himself.

However, this only made him vulnerable to further attacks from his masked opponent. Vega grinned as he made his next move, almost feeling sorry for his opponent now. But not enough to hold back. His claw had tasted blood, and they wouldn't be satisfied until he gave Balrog true humiliation. With a dash, Vega reached him before he could get his head back in the fight. With a pleased smirk, he lifted Balrog up from behind, arms around his waist. Bending backwards, he slamming the man's head into the ground behind him and let go.

Now that the boxer was in a daze from his meeting with the hard concrete, Vega tugged the sash free from around his own waist and tied it around Balrog's wrists, good and tight. Then, with a yodel of victory, he slammed his claw in between his the boxing gloves, piercing his sash and anchoring Balrog's hands to the ground where they couldn't move. Balrog loudly swore as he realized what had happened. His only manner of attacking-his arms-were now completely trapped. The big boxer struggled against his bonds but the claw was stuck deep. It would take some time to wriggle loose.

Vega chuckled lightly then, seeing the position that Balrog was now lying in. His upper half was pinned down, while his lower half was bent over and nearly naked. Vega hopped onto Balrog's back, and examined the two dark globes below. Firm and compact, and round with muscle. He had to admit, they were beautiful. Not nearly as beautiful as his own, of course, but possibly the only beautiful thing on the man's body.

Feeling his nimble opponent's fingers gliding all over his caught ass, Balrog got pissed and turned his face to shout, "Hey, what the FUCK are you do-Youwww!" But he only got a searing two-handed spank for his troubles. Both muscular black cheeks twisted as Vega's firm palms started to beat them.

The masked man raised both hands again, and slammed them down. The sound of skin against skin shot through the whole crowd, many of whom were cheering. Nobody could argue that the mean, burly boxer with the bad reputation didn't deserve some hefty punishment.

"I'm going to enjoy this," Vega said with a sadistic grin. He raised his hands again.

The spanking began in force. Both his hands started a brisk attack, alternating cheeks. _Slapslapslapslapslapslap!_ echoed around, making the big man twist, writhe, and snarl. Not only was Vega strong, but due to his speed he spanked twice as fast as a normal person, making it even worse for Balrog.

"Yowww! When I get my gloves outta this, I'm gonna blister your pretty little white ass!" Balrog swore. But then he started to yell as the spanks came faster. There was no break at all between the hard, painful smacks. "Ooh! Shit! Argh!"

Vega just smiled as he heard the man swear revenge on him. There was, of course, no way that would happen. He had Balrog's ass right where he wanted it, and he wasn't going to stop until the other man lost. His hands slammed down all over the two round globes as hard and fast as they was able. "You're not going to be beating my ass at all, Balrog," he told him._ Slapslapslapslapslap!_ "You aren't getting out of there ANYTIME soon. By the time you do, your ass will be burnt to a crisp and I'll be long gone."

"Ooh! Oooooogh!" Balrog started to groan and wriggle his butt around helplessly. It made quite a comical sight, the big tough American boxer at the mercy of the smaller, more lithe Spaniard. Already there was a healthy red tint to his cheeks, though it was difficult to determine the exact extent of the damage due to Balrog's black skin. Vega's spanks packed quite a sting. "Oww! C'mon Vega, not so hard!" he shouted out dumbly. There were a few tears in his eyes now. "Remember when we fought together to stop the world warriors back in Shadaloo? Yoouugh! Have mercy on an old comrade, Vega!"

"What are you talking about?" Vega asked, chuckling as he continued without hesitating at all. "I'm not spanking you with my claw, am I? This IS having mercy. Besides, if I go too easy I won't be able to claim victory, will I?" He gave one muscular bun a long squeeze. "And if I don't win here, then that means less asses to writhe at my mercy for the rest of the tournament."

Balrog grimaced and gulped. "You . . . !"

"Besides, this is still light compared to what Sagat or Bison used to give you," Vega pointed out. Both men had regularly punished Balrog back when he'd worked for Shadaloo and would often leave his ass literally smoking from either Tiger Shots or Psycho Power. It'd been one of the only ways to keep the dumb, but powerful, boxer in line.

"Dammit, still . . . !" Balrog growled.

Now it was time to finish up. Vega raised both hands, building power for just a moment, before slamming them down. He would show Balrog that mercy had no place in a street fight. Not even a second had passed before he slammed both palms down again, just as hard, and in the exact same place. He did this over and over, concentrating all his power to the base of Balrog's butt where it was most sensitive. Just a few more . . .

"OW! OW! OOOOOH!" Balrog howled as those fierce blows exploded on his ass. He grit his teeth, wishing he'd thought to bring his mouthguard along for this fight. He couldn't take much more. The big, muscular man was already sniffling and about to cry. Three more hard whacks to his sit-spots, and he let out a sob. He couldn't take anymore. The huge boxer stopped his struggling and just lay on the ground with his fiery ass blazing and getting pummeled. The whole crowd could see how the once-tough boxer had been reduced to a little naughty boy by the humiliating beating. "Fuuuck! It hurts so bad! Owww, stooop! I-yoooough!-I give-"

Then, through his teary vision, Balrog noticed something. Vega's sash was holding his wrists together. But-his wrists were in his gloves. If he just slipped his hands out of his boxing gloves . . .

With a gutteral yell, Balrog's powerful back rose up and flipped the startled Vega over. Before the man could rely on his speed to escape, Balrog got a hold of him. His big hand went inside Vega's tights, and peeled the form-fitting pants off just enough to expose that lean, perfectly muscled ass. "Alright, now we're gonna see who's the strongest! It's payback time!" Balrog yelled. "Let's see how YOU like it, bitch!" Immediately he started spanking the sculpted buttocks. All around them, men gaped and double-taked at the sight of the positions reversed.

Vega had never been spanked in his entire life, and the burning sensation was new, and unwanted, to him. At first he was too shocked to even struggle for escape-at least, until the first powerful smack crashed down. Then he was yelping and twisting like mad to escape further blows. "Ow! Balrog you-Nngh!-stop it! It took-Yeowch!-years to create this-Ahh!-perfect ass! I swear you'll-Ooh!-regret doing this! Ahh!" he threatened. His ass was paler than the rest of his body, and that only made the redness show even more vibrantly.

"Pah! You think I care? This is the type of revenge you learn on the streets." Balrog continued to pound the two taut, squirming orbs. He knew that Vega always freaked out if his "beautiful face" got struck; typical he had the same reaction over his ass. But that just made Balrog want to spank him harder. The boxer's strong arms flexed as he brought his palm down powerfully on each cheek.

"But I don't think your ass is "perfect" yet," Balrog sneered evilly as his arms started to rise higher and higher with each blow, pumping like a machine. "Noooo, it won't be perfect until it's much, MUCH redder than it is now!"

"Oww! You brute! I'll-Oooooh!-I'll slice you up for this! I-Ahhhhh!-I swear! Damn you-OOOWCH!" Vega yelled out loudly. He continued to struggle, but held like he was Vega was unable to utilize his greatest asset-his mobility. The big boxer easily kept the smaller man trapped over his knee, kicking his legs helplessly as his pert, perky ass turned redder and redder.

It wasn't long after that when the familiar deep voice called out, "BALROG WINS". The crowd cheered wildly at the surprise turnabout victory. Vega lay crumpled on the ground, buttocks throbbing, grateful that his mask at least concealed his tears. As Balrog took the opportunity to flex in victory over his defeated foe for the spectators, Vega privately vowed to get even next tournament . . . No one ruined the splendor of his beautiful backside without suffering serious consequences.


	6. Guile VS M Bison

Colonel Guile stepped out into the sun from his quarters on the American Air Force base, sunglasses snapped over his eyes. Dressed in his usual green tank-top and fatigues, he cut a strapping, powerful figure. He rolled out his comb and quickly did his hair, making sure each strand was perfectly positioned for aerodynamic motion.

There was a match scheduled for him today, but he hadn't been notified who his opponent would be yet. All he'd been told was to wait at the old takeoff strip and his challenger would arrive. Already, several of his men had gathered there to cheer him on. They knew how good their officer was at fighting, and also, more than a few of them knew first-hand how hard he could spank. They figured no one could beat him. Guile stood at one end of the strip, boot tapping the ground waiting for his opponent.

It wasn't long before Guile's challenger did appear. A giant aircraft descended from overhead to hover far above the colonel and all his men. A moment later a figure jumped out, at first showing merely as a black dot against the pale blue sky. Then it slowly grew as it plummeted downward. The figure didn't seem at all nervous as it hurtled to the ground, slowly taking form before their eyes. His booted feet were pointed directly down, and his arms were crossed in front of his chest. His red uniform suit was arranged impeccably, matched by his red cap and cape.

Just as the figure was about to crash with a sickening impact, he stopped in mid-air with a crackling burst of evil psychic power. His toes hovered mere inches from the ground. The man looked up, with a psychotic grin and stared at Guile. The pure white of his eyes and strapping figure belonging to none other than M. Bison himself.

The military guys all around gasped in awe at Bison's arrival, backing away and gawking, but Guile merely narrowed his eyes and glared. This was the man responsible for his old partner Charlie's death, and the reason he'd entered the tournament in the first place. "Flashy entrance," he said grimly, taking his stance. "Didn't think I'd be lucky enough to have you as my first opponent. I plan on avenging Charlie's murder, but since these new rules won't let me do it how I want, I guess I'll have to settle for beating your dictator ass 'til even your Shadaloo goons won't respect you anymore."

The flattop's grim promise set the watching men to grins and tells, many of them cheering, "Go get 'em, Colonel!"

All of that only made Bison grin wider in arrogance, and at the knowledge that he was sure to win. After all, Guile may tough but he had no spiritual energy to truly be a threat. "Is that what you plan on? At the end of this battle, even Charlie will be laughing in his grave at your pitiful attempts to avenge his death."

The villain's smug expression enraged the American colonel. "You bastard, how dare you even speak Charlie's name!" he snarled, and threw his muscular arms back. Guile knew that M. Bison was probably the most dangerous man in the tournament, but he also knew that it was his life's mission to take him down. He vowed to himself that the man's ass would be stripped and tossed over his knee for a killer spanking that his pride would never recover from. Faster than a normal man could see, both arms were next swung forward, creating a blade of compressed air that flew towards his powerful opponent. "SONIC BOOM!"

Bison just grinned at the straight-forward attack flying towards him. Bison was arrogant, but he had a right to be. A second before the blade touched him, all of him turned completely blue for a split second before he vanished completely. The blade of air flew harmlessly through the space where he'd once been.

Before Guile could even comprehend what had happened, he felt a sharp slap to his rear. It was clearly enhanced with psycho power and completely shredded the backside of his pants. "Wha-Argh!" Guile bit out a grunt. He stood there growling, the backside of his camos ripped and his tight boxer-briefs showing through; red, white, and blue, American flags decorated both muscled spheres of his underwear-clad buns. The next instant, M. Bison reappeared right back in the spot he'd teleported from, smiling and wringing his hand out.

The air force men groaned and lamented the incident, though more than a few of them were also a little pleased to see the Colonel get a dose of his own medicine. Guile was a stickler for discipline on the base, which usually meant he was in charge of giving out licks to the other enlisted men. He always did it firmly on the bare and HARD, making even the toughest grunt beg for mercy.

But now Guile had just received a keen slap to his own ass. He rubbed slightly at the spot, while devising his next move. "Just try that again," he said at last, and sank down to a ducking position. The second Bison got close at him again, through teleportation or otherwise, Guile planned to give him his famous Cyclone Kick and end this match before it truly began.

Bison just grinned and did exactly what Guile expected, phasing himself out again. But of course, Bison wasn't an idiot. He knew exactly what the colonel planned on doing. That's why he teleported right in front of the man for a split second-before immediately disappearing again.

"CYCLONE KICK!" Guile roared as soon as he caught a glimpse of that evil aura. His foot lashed out, and his whole body spun airborne with the swift motion. When his sharp kick only caught air, however, Guile's eyes widened. He hadn't counted on Bison simply baiting him out. After his Cyclone Kick, Guile was easily vulnerable to a counter-attack. "Shit!" As he spun, Guile tried desperately to re-align himself to avoid retribution, but when he felt a firm grip fasten around his boot he knew that he'd failed.

"Nice move, commander. Would've been better if you'd hit me with it though," Bison told him in mocking tones. With only a slight effort, his psycho power roared and ripped away all of the man's clothes, even his boots.

"Noooo!" Guile yelled as he was stripped completely naked in front of all his men. Shreds of green tank-top mixed with camo-pants and patriotic underwear as they all fell from his trim, powerful body. An impressive cock lurched into the open air, and then the Colonel was left with only his dog-tags around his neck and American Flag tattoos on both shoulders. "You bastard!" he growled, as Bison's grip now clamped on his bare ankle. He threw a fierce back-handed punch in an attempt to reclaim the fight.

But Bison immediately caught it, the smirk never leaving his face. His psycho energy next wrapped around Guile, forcibly levitating him an inch above the ground with his feet straight down and arms flat at his sides. Struggling and flexing in the grip of Bison's mysterious power, Guile panted and his muscles bulged as he tried to get free. His men were shouting encouragements at him, but Guile was barely listening due to the battle-roar in his own ears. However, all of that changed with his opponent's next move.

Bison looked the man up and down like one would examine a side of beef, before one hand roamed between his legs. He stroked the military man's cock as he said, "Yes, quite impressive Guile . . . Bet you've your share of fun with Charlie using this, haven't you?"

Guile's breath caught as the man's hand lingered around his groin, and he found himself flushing as he was openly molested in front of the troops. "You . . .you . . . !" But what made his face even redder than embarrassment, was the anger he felt at M. Bison's insinuations about him and Charlie. "When I get free of this, I'm taking you down . . . !" he growled. His body twisted in an attempt to get his privates away from the man's infernal grip.

Bison just chuckled and continued his rubbing. He next stepped leisurely around to Guile's side, moving so that one hand could continue stroking while the other went behind to rub at Guile's two muscled buttocks. He let out a pleased murmur. "I bet Charlie misses plowing into this thing the most," he said, knowing it'd piss the man off. Then, his hands turned blue with psycho energy while he raised it and gave two heavy smacks to both cheeks. The solid impact of hand on flesh rang out over the entire base.

The Colonel grit his teeth as his opponent ran his dirty fingers all over his ass, clenching when they got too close to his crack. But Guile wasn't able to maintain his silence once those burning Psycho Spanks collided with his buttocks. "Augh! Argh!" he yelled, as the Air Force men were greeted with the sight of two vivid hand-prints rising on the bare-naked backside of their Colonel.

Bison let out a satisfactory chuckle. Those yelps were like music to his ears. He raised his hand again and began slamming it down over and over. His gloved palm was wide enough to cover most of the muscle buns, and his psycho energy didn't let up at all, either in the spanks or in restraining Guile. It was obvious that Bison wasn't going to let the man have even the slightest glimmer of hope to get free or fight him again.

"Ungh! Ah! Nngh! Damn!" Guile cursed as both buttocks received a hefty beating. He couldn't believe he was losing so easily. Not only stripped and captured, but now getting spanked as well. His arms and sweaty, bulging chest continued to heave and flex in the losing battle for freedom. But his round, powerful ass-cheeks were starting to turn red under Bison's skillful palm. Guile realized that only a man well-experienced in beating ass could ignite such pain so quickly, and felt disgusted that he might soon be just one more check on Bison's list of conquered backsides.

But he couldn't fail Charlie. Not yet. As the man continued pummeling both cheeks, Guile tried his best to hold on. "Y-you're just an overgrown bully," he snarled. "You think you can conquer the world with this weak power? You're-nngh!-pathetic!" he yelled defiantly.

"Weak power, eh?" Bison asked, grinning. "Then I better kick this up a notch." His hand turned a deeper blue as even more psycho power poured into it. Bison raised it up, and then slammed it down on one difference in power was felt immediately, as it felt like a raging hot fire spreading throughout both buns. A deep red hand-print was left where Bison had struck.

"NnnghhhhGAHHH!" Guile howled as that slap impacted deeply, feeling almost like his ass was being branded. His struggles increased greatly, but under Bison's psycho power Guile could still barely move a muscle, able only to flex his body an inch here or there. His red chiseled butt wasn't even able to squirm a bit as another horrible spank was lined up.

SMACK!

"AUUUGHHH!" This howl rivaled the first as Guile's whole body seemed to lurch forward. His muscular buttocks, once his pride that no one in the whole military was able to beat them, now floated red and burning in front of the whole base. Even worse, every spank forced Guile to thrust his midsection forward, effectively pushing himself into the hand still gripping his member. His cock had been flaccid when this punishment had begun, but now . . . "You bastard! I won't-owwugh!-lose to y-you!"

Bison just chuckled and continued slamming his hand down, over and over. Due to how much energy he had amassed, he needed to only smack down repeatedly in the same spot to claim victory. Guile's entire rear was feeling the heat, but the area struck burned the most."Fine! More fun for me then!" he said sadistically, before giving a laugh and using all his power for one last punishing blow. He slammed it down as hard as he could and held it there so waves of Psycho Energy would rush into the two cheeks. The burning feeling intensified more and more with every passing second.

"OooOOAAAUGHHH! NooOOOO STOP!" Guile's naked body began flexing wildly as that last spank put all his previous ones to shame. He wrenched around helplessly, the incredibly painful feeling in his rear combining with the feeling of masturbation he was receiving from his front driving him mad. "OWWW SHIT! Fuck . . . Fuck . . . Fuckin' STOOOP!"

"Not until you give up, Commander!" Bison chuckled as another wave of Psycho energy flowed in to make Guile's ass feel far past fried and burnt. "Give up and I'll let your ass rest . . . for now!"

"NGHHHH! Aughhhh . . . Damn . . . Sorry, Charlie . . . " Tears were now running down Guile's face. His whole body slumped down in submission, no longer fighting the Psycho Power. "I . . I give . . . " he choked out. It seemed that the spanking had thoroughly conquered him. The men watching the match groaned in defeat as well, feeling Guile's humiliation as one of their own. Although Guile was one of the strongest fighters in the tournament, he'd stood no chance against Bison without spiritual powers of his own.

"M. BISON WINS."

Bison chuckled as he patted one of the abused cheek. The psycho energy disappeared from his hand as he rubbed the globe. He grabbed Guile and casually tossed the naked man over his shoulder before giving a quick salute to his men. Guile, still under control of Psycho Power, had no chance to struggle as the ground beneath them began to get further away and his men became smaller and smaller. "Now then, Commander, you've had your fun playing with Charlie, but now I'm going to show you how real men play," he said, chuckling as his fingers slid between the two hot cheeks, rubbing Guile's hole. "We're going to have a lot of fun in the upcoming months, aren't we?"

Guile groaned as his red bottom glowed over Bison's shoulder, seeming to lead the way as he was kidnapped by the other man. He could see his men below running around and scrambling, probably planning to send a rescue team, but he knew it'd be no use. The only thing he could say as he was roughly fingered was, "Shit . . . " and _really_ hope that M. Bison didn't end up winning the tournament.


	7. M Bison Interlude

The red cape swirled around the man as he set down on the hangar's floor from psycho-powered flight, his latest conquest slung unconscious and naked over his shoulder. This was Shadaloo's most secure facility, and the place he personally brought all the fighters he defeated in the Tournament to.

He stepped forward, high boots clacking imposingly over the steel surface of the deck. Immediately, the men on duty stood at attention, lining up and saluting him. As well they should-he was their supreme leader, after all. And discipline had become an obsession of M. Bison's of late.

It had all started when he had made a breakthrough into the secrets behind his Psycho Power, the evil force he commanded. He had known that it grew stronger when in the presence of so-called "negative" emotions-fear, anger, hatred, despair, lust, and so on. But efforts to manufacture the results of such emotions had always been mixed at best. The true breakthrough had come once Bison had discovered an even more effective strengthening agent-the twin combination of pain and humiliation.

Ironically, it had occurred while disciplining one of his own men-a low rank Shadaloo goon named Birdie. The knife-flicking muscular goon was an utter incompetent, and had almost gotten an entire shipment of illegal drugs caught by customs. As punishment, Bison had grown so frustrated that he'd actually taken the mohawk sporting man across his knees like a child, where he'd proceeded to peel his tight jeans down and mete out the appropriate punishment his bare backside deserved. Birdie had broken within moments, naturally, but Bison's Psycho-infused palm continued searing his dark-skinned globes until he was bawling.

It was then that Bison had *felt* the rush of power infusing him, feeding on Birdie's helpless submission to his might. And without even the benefit of a Psycho Drive! It was a breakthrough he did not hesitate to pursue.

It made sense, he supposed. Psycho Power was made for domination, and what more primal way was there to dominate than a man than by punishing his unruly backside until he was in tears and agreeing to do whatever you wished so long as the pain would end? Since that time, M. Bison had spanked hundreds of men, experimenting with the way in which his powers strengthened. His conclusions were thus:

-The stronger a man's fighting instincts, the more energy which could be harvested during his punishment. Spanking the equivalent of a World Warrior was as if you were absorbing the energy of an entire small country. This made strong fighters such as Ryu, Ken, Guile and others more precious than gold.

-Humiliation played a part as well. A man with strong pride gave off significantly more energy as he was taken down a peg. The more he resisted, the sweeter the reward once he finally broke.

-As it so happened, these were exactly the type of men M. Bison enjoyed inflicting punishment on the most.

It should come as no surprise then to learn that M. Bison had arranged the entire Tournament so far, new rules and all. He desired strong warriors, and the Street Fighter tournament was the perfect bait to draw them out. The more the fools fought and spanked each other, the more his powers grew from collecting their energies. And he gained the most power from the victories he achieved personally, of course. The dictator smiled as he made his way down the corridors of the hidden fortress. No one had even suspected he was secretly pulling the strings. This tournament really was delicious.

As he walked, he could feel the man over his shoulder stirring groggily. It was Hakan, the burly Turkish oil wrestler and newcomer to the tournament. With large, powerful muscles and a slippery grappling style which involved coating his entire body in oil, the red-skinned man had thought himself invincible. He soon learned otherwise however, after Bison hit him full-force with numerous 'Psycho Crusher' attacks. The oil wrestler had been defeated quickly, after which it had been a simple matter to subdue the man over his lap, wrest his leather pants off those muscular, glistening oil-coated buttocks, and finish the battle with a good, hard spanking. By the time he had finished, Hakan had completely surrendered and was crying out for mercy.

Mercy was not in the cards for the macho Turk, however. After his victory, Bison had knocked the wrestler out before abducting him as he did all the men he defeated. He brought them all here, to this very base.

"Oh . . . where am I? Who has brought me here . . . ?" Bison could hear the man muttering in low Turkish as he slowly came to. He smiled as he felt Hakan suddenly stiffen, knowing it must be from memory and realization. The memory of his inglorious defeat, and the realization that he had now been kidnapped. Not only kidnapped . . . but that he had been stripped naked, and was being carried through the fortress without a stitch of clothing to cover his handsome, exposed, and sorely spanked rump.

"Oi! What is this! Put me down!" Hakan shouted in his native tongue. He reared up and attempted to struggle, but Bison put him in his place with a few well-chosen swats to the red muscled ass over his shoulder. He added just a small bit of Psycho Power to his palm, which forced Hakan to howl.

"Ohhh! That hurts! Please stop!" Hakan quickly settled back down, sniffling. The memory of his last blistering was too fresh in his mind for him to further resist. He put more questions to his captor as he was brought deeper into the fortress, but Bison chose not to answer them. What was the point? From this point on, Hakan would merely be one of many batteries for his Psycho Power. Hardly worth explaining his fate to.

At length they reached the Punishment Platform, which lay at the heart of the base and was the reason it had been constructed in the first place. Bison finally let the big man down. No sooner was Hakan standing however than several Shadaloo soldiers appeared, clapping him in irons and taking him away to his assigned station. Bison watched as the big Turk was lead away, a sheen still covering his red skin from his oil fighting. Several spanks were delivered from the soldiers to his muscled ass to hurry him along, which made him hop, swear, and do so.

Bison stood beside a glass window as Hakan was brought into a room full of restraining devices, most resembling bondage furniture. The large wrestler was strapped down, red butt facing up, perched and ready. The confused man struggled in his bindings, not realizing what he was there for. He didn't have long to wait. Rising from holes behind him where he couldn't see, two paddles came into view held by mechanical arms. They aligned themselves perfectly with his waiting rump, before drawing back. Hakan didn't even suspect the explosion of pain that greeted him until it happened, when they then slammed forward and cracked soundly across his glutes.

WHACK! WHACK!

The dictator ignored his anguished cry of startled pain, and continued along the long corridor he was in. Exactly every ten meters there was another window, looking in on another fighter he'd defeated and captured.

First up was the happy-go-lucky fighter, DeeJay. Well, the dancing Jamaican didn't look so happy anymore. He was locked into a machine like Hakan's, bent over with his bare butt raised and his ridiculous 'MAXIMUM' pants gathered around his ankles. And he was now doing an all new dance, to quite a painful beat-squirming and futilely twisting his hips as paddles took turns blasting his dark-skinned rear. The wide grin which had always seemed permanently fixed onto his face had long ago been replaced by a grimace of pain, as he yelped and begged for the endless beating to stop. "OOH, c'mon mon! Whatever I did, I'm sorry, ya? YOWW!" Bison paid no attention at all to him and continued on.

The second window looked in on the Chinese actor and kung fu master, Fei Long. The Hong Kong man had been stripped completely naked, and his body hung upside down from the ceiling by cords tied around his ankles. This allowed him to swing back and forth like a helpless puppet as straps continually whipped down on his tight buttocks. "Ahhhh! It hurts!" he wept, having a lower pain tolerance than most. Bison wondered what the movie star's large and adoring audience would think if they could see him like this.

Next was the punishment room for the towering Native American man, T. Hawk. He was completely naked as well, besides a few feathers which had been carelessly left in his hair. This man was one of the few fighters not captured during the tournament, but had rather been found attempting to infiltrate this very base. It seemed he was on a mission to find his kidnapped lover, who had been long ago been brainwashed into recruitment as one of Bison's beautiful "Doll" agents. Unfortunately for the beefy Mexican, he'd tripped a hidden alarm on entering and had been captured minutes after infiltrating the facility. His strong and muscular backside now quivered under the pain of a hard mechanical spanking 24/7.

As Bison stood there watching, T. Hawk looked up and noticed him on the other side of the glass. His tear-stained face darkened to an ugly scowl. "You won't-Aauugh!-get away with this, Bison!" He flexed against the straps holding him. "I'll get loose-UNNGH!-rescue Julia, and then-ERRGH!-defeat you!" As he spoke, numerous blows fell on his red and aching rump, causing him to groan and his defiant struggles to turn into helpless writhing. "Aohhhw!"

Bison merely chuckled at the man's bravado, as he always did. This wasn't the first time T. Hawk had made such brash claims. But for all his bluster, he was still the one receiving the demeaning beating across his bare and wriggling ass, while Bison was still the one watching in amusement and holding all the power. He turned his back on the man and continued his tour, ignoring T. Hawk's cries from behind urging him to come back and fight.

In this fashion the dictator strolled down the corridor, looking in on each window to make sure the punishments were proceeding appropriately and the maximum amount of Psycho Power was being transferred to him from their pain-wracked captivity and loss of pride. He had amassed a truly impressive number of strong but defeated fighters by now, as the passageway went on for nearly a mile. A second stretch would need to be constructed soon, as most of the rooms here were already occupied. The echoes of masculine grunts, moans, and frenzied yelps, as well as the impact of assorted implements on bare, muscular ass flesh followed him all the while. None of the fighters had realized at the time of their tournament defeat just what losing to M. Bison would mean to their lives, or to their dignity.

He reflected on the cyclical nature of his plan as he proceeded towards the base's control room. The power he acquired from his Psycho Power allowed him to defeat any man in the world. This had been proven, with only minor exceptions, countless times. And each fighter he defeated in this mockery of a martial arts tournament-rather, each addition to his humiliating dungeon of spanking-served to increase his power even further, making more victories possible down the line and allowing him to capture yet more men, and on and on. It was a cycle of pain, tears, defeats, bondage, and red, blistered buttocks, and M. Bison savored every instant of it.

The last room he passed before the massive doors which held the Psycho Drive itself was empty of prisoners, but obviously specially prepared. This was the room reserved for the practitioners of Shotokan karate, that annoying fighting discipline of fireballs and uppercuts which had actually foiled his plans in the past. But he planned to get back on each member of that private school.

There was a slot reserved for each. Ryu and Ken's muscular rears would look natural getting spanked naked side by side together, he wagered. A restraining horse was prepped for their master, Gouken, as well, now that the old fighter had come out of isolation. He would soon regret that decision once Shadaloo forces finally tracked him down so that Bison could dominate his proud bottom. There was even a slot for that shadowy and beastly user of Ansatsuken, Akuma himself. One which not even that monster could escape, and which would redden his raging backside until he was in tears. They would look so perfect all getting punished together. Just like one big happy sobbing family.

And the power he would amass . . . Bison had discovered long ago that Ryu somehow possessed the key to unlimited power. By besting, stripping, restraining, spanking, and *taming* him, Bison would acquire that power for himself. He just knew it. And then all restrictions placed on his might would truly fall away at last.

That thought put a wide smile on his face as he finally stepped through the thick steel doors which housed the nerve center of the facility. The Psycho Drive itself, engorged from so much power being pumped into it, radiated a glow which cast the room in unusual colors and shadows. Bison found the affect beautiful, but many men went mad if they stood within its sphere for too long. Workers were constantly replaced for this room.

Tied up like a trophy by his chair, Bison spied his favorite prisoner of all. Colonel William Guile hung there, his body suspended by thick ropes, glowering at him. Guile had been one of the first men Bison had defeated, and he still held a soft spot for the officer. It was the way he continued to defy him, Bison thought. Even after all the humiliations which been done to him, all the spankings he had endured which in the end had reduced him to sobs. Guile never gave up fighting. For that kind of stubbornness to still exist in a place such as this . . . M. Bison licked his lips. It was intoxicating.

That was the reason Guile was kept in the centrol control room, rather than a punishment cell like all the others. The muscular and bound Air Force officer was a living, angry, and writhing symbol to him of all the men who would soon fall under Bison's power. The more he glared and struggled, the more of a spectacle he became, and the more clear it was that Shadaloo's might was absolute, and he had been utterly defeated by it. That and, well, M. Bison enjoyed spanking him personally rather than allow a machine to perform the task.

Guile had been stripped nude of course, so that Bison could enjoy the sight of his chiseled male form whenever he wished. He truly did have a wonderful body. The only item he had been allowed to keep for himself were his dogtags, both his own and his old partner's, Charlie Nash. The reason for this was because Bison enjoyed it. Enjoyed allowing him to keep something so trivial, but which Guile put so much importance on. Knowing he could take it from him whenever he wished.

"Ah, my good Colonel. Miss me?" Bison mocked as he cupped the officer's balls for a brief fondle. Guile tried to twist away in disgust, but bound as he was there was no possible way he could do so. He looked at Bison with eyes full of hatred but said nothing.

"Ahh, that glare. So burning! I can feel your emotions right through it. You wish to fight me again, yes?" Bison smiled as he played with Guile's trim, muscular body, toying with him as much as he liked. "A rematch. Is that what you would like?"

"Nngh!" Guile flexed in revulsion as his pecs were felt up by the evil man, his nipples unwillingly hardening. "It would be a start!" he spat.

"Ha ha . . . As a token of my respect for you, Colonel, I will grant your wish. Consider it a gift, from me to you." Bison's smile remained unchanging as he gave a snap of his fingers . . . and Guile's ropes fell away.

Guile gaped, too surprised for a moment to move. He'd been held for months by the sadistic man, a spanking and bondage slave without freedom for even a second. Suddenly, he could move on his own, and indecision gripped him as new, long denied options flooded his mind. That hesitation only lasted for a second though, as he quickly capitalized on his unbound state to go on the offensive with a spinning back knuckle.

Unfortunately for Guile, Bison was only toying with him again. he loved seeing the flash of hope in Guile's eyes, before crushing it mercilessly. In fact, he had manipulated the man multiple times by now without Guile realizing it just for that very reason, and each time his inevitable victory had been all the sweeter. The fight only lasted a few moments before the kidnapped officer was defeated once more, crumpling to the floor under Bison's Psycho might.

"Ahh, good try. Perhaps you will do better next time," Bison taunted as he lifted the dazed man up. Guile could only groan as he was carried under the dictator's arms, until he felt the man sit down. "But I doubt it. You feel how much stronger I have become lately, do you not? During the tournament when we fought you lasted almost a full minute, this time you only lasted half that long. It is all thanks to you and the other men I have beaten. Does it please you, Colonel, knowing the very energy you release as you writhe so defiantly only fuels my powers to beat you all over again?"

"Nnngh . . . Go fuck yourself!" Guile snarled, growling as he tried to escape his position, but already knew it was impossible. Bison was as evil as they came, but in this case he was right, dammit. He was simply too strong. There was nothing Guile could do at all as he was slung over the dictator's knee like a slab of meat, butt facing up, his round, muscled cheeks parting as his thighs were casually forced apart. Nothing he could do except squirm helplessly as Bison prepared to start spanking his pert, military globes. Again.

"No, Colonel, I do not think I will be the one getting fucked soon," Bison let out a smug chuckle as his palm lashed down on the waiting rump. The impact drew a pained roar from the Air Force officer, as well as leave a burning handprint on the round flesh of his backside. More spanks followed the first, and Guile was soon wriggling in angry pain. "You, on the other hand . . . "

"Argh! You're going to get yours, Bison!" Guile shouted defiantly as his beefy buns were scalded by the dictator's strong right hand. "Your empire of drugs and prostitution can't-Gahh!-last forever! The U.N.'s armed forces will-NNGH!-find this base, and make you pay for your-Annngh!- crimes! Face it, Bison-UNNNFF!-Shadaloo is going down! Owww!"

Bison merely smirked as he continued to spank the resisting man. "On the contrary, Colonel. Once my plans for this tournament are completed, I will be the most powerful man on Earth. No one will dare get in my way, and if they do . . . why, they will all suffer just as you are now. I will have the power to defeat armies with a gesture. In fact, perhaps that is just what I will do to the base you served on before losing to me." Bison grinned and cupped one of Guile's flushed buttocks, giving the firm flesh a good squeeze. "How would you like the company of the rest of your men, Colonel? This whole compound could be filled with the wails of the soldiers you helped train to defeat me, as they are punished alongside you!"

If Guile had anything to say to that, it was lost in the wail *he* let out as Bison switched to targeting the base of his buttocks and upper thighs. The strong and prideful military man tried to keep his reactions in check, but after a minute had gone by he'd already been reduced to openly sobbing under the dictator's might. With the power of his magnified Psycho Drive, Bison's punishment powers were increased by a factor of a thousand. Guile's poor bottom was soon a mess of welts and blisters. That didn't mean Bison stopped his discipline however. Oh, no, he simply kept casually beating the broken fighter while he called his aides in to give him their reports. No one paid much attention to Guile's helpless bawls.

M. Bison smiled as the reports kept coming in from all over the world, displaying the next list of fighters he and his forces would challenge. and then defeat. There would soon not be a single pair of male buttocks left in the tournament which had not felt the sting of his broad gloved palm-which did not continue to feel the pain of his special punishment rooms which held them prisoner while it siphoned off their remaining pain and humiliation-filled energy. And once this was done, Bison would move on to the rest of the world. Political and military officials would beg to cede control of their territories over to him, rather than spend another agonizing second howling and twisting over his lap. True world domination was already practically within his grasp.

Nothing could stop him now.


End file.
